


Beach Date

by LostSoftSpaceDyke



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley are loved goddamn it, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, back at it again with the fluff, i cannot express how much this is fluff, this is such pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-05 20:44:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostSoftSpaceDyke/pseuds/LostSoftSpaceDyke
Summary: Crowley suggests a beach date and Aziraphale accepts so long as some conditions are met first.A gift for the super sweet and supportive just_quintessentially_me who scored the 100th kudo prize on one of my other fics.





	Beach Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [just_quintessentially_me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_quintessentially_me/gifts).

Aziraphale hadn’t been too keen on the idea at first. “_Oh I couldn’t, Crowley, you know how my physical body handles sunlight. You were there last time. I _ peeled_, dear.” _But after Crowley had sat him down over tea and patiently explained that it would be warm, they could bring sangria, and Aziraphale could read, the angel had finally taken up his centuries long offer of a trip to the beach. There were a few conditions to his tentative acceptance, but Crowley had waved them off and insisted that sure, anything, they could do whatever Aziraphale wanted so long as it was at the beach. 

The first condition was easy enough to meet. He’d promised sangria, and making some wasn’t really wasn’t a bother. It was just as much for him as it was for the angel, although he’d never admit it. Confessing to his enjoyment of sangria was a slippery slope that ended with him also admitting to his secret adoration of cosmopolitans and other fru-fru drinks. _ That _would lead to the very unfortunate demise of his drinks-related moral high ground. He couldn’t exactly tease Aziraphale for ordering a drink with a little umbrella if he himself was halfway through a pina colada. So he’d pretend the sangria was for the angel and he’d pour himself some as if it were some great burden and he could keep one of his few upper hands. 

…………………….

The second condition was actually something Crowley had sort of been (but would never admit to) looking forward to doing. Aziraphale’s paleness may have worked just fine under layers of old velvet coats and cloudy London skies, but here? On one of the warmest days of the year? In swim trunks? 

Aziraphale was right. This would be just like last time if Crowley didn’t do something about it. 

And if it gives Crowley an excuse to pamper his partner a bit, well, that’s a nice bonus. 

“Your shoulders are always too tight. It's your posture,” Crowley insists as he tries to work out on particularly rough knot in Aziraphale’s shoulder. It’s the result of some old injury or other, strain caused from sitting hunched over while helping copy bibles by hand in the middle ages. That one knot is definitely older than most modern countries. “You could just miracle it away.”

Crowley had noticed it during World War Two, the way Aziraphale sometimes looked pained when he lifted a larger piece of rubble. He’s wanted an excuse to get his hands on it for _ ages. _

“I forget it’s there most of the time.” He’s nearly sagging under Crowley’s touch and the demon can’t help but be a little proud. They are going to _ relax _, come Hell or high water, and if that means Crowley has to dig his thumbs into every single ancient injury his angel has retained over the past six millennia, then so be it. 

Besides, what better motivation than the occasional squeaks and sighs of an angel that is definitely not used to relaxing _ anything _? 

It’s not long before the knot is nearly gone and Crowley is now definitely very proud that he managed to do that with no demonic or angelic intervention. He tests it, getting Aziraphale to roll his shoulder back as the angel marvels (in, admittedly, the most adorable way) over how easily it moves. “Do...do shoulders usually do that?”

“Yours didn’t, apparently.” 

“Well, thank you then,” Aziraphale says with a smile that could rival the afternoon sun above. Crowley distracts himself from it by focusing a little too intently on applying the last of the sunscreen on the angel’s nose. 

“Lay down before you tense it again.”

…………………….

The third condition was also pretty easy. No talk of work or the apocalypse-that-wasn’t. No talk of things they should do when they got back. No talk of Heaven or Hell. _ Especially _no talk of their former bosses. 

This was going to be a fun day out, a vacation, and Aziraphale didn’t want it to be ruined by Crowley’s theories on Beelzebub’s romantic interests. Nor by Crowley’s theories on Gabriel’s romantic interests. He especially did not want to hear about Crowley’s scheme to get Beelzebub and Gabriel together because, according to Crowley, “they both sound like they’d be into weird shit.” After all, according to Aziraphale, both individuals being terrible people is not _ actually _ sufficient reason to get them together. 

Crowley isn’t wrong, though. 

Aziraphale just really doesn’t want to think of whatever Crowley meant when he implied that Gabriel is into “weird shit.”

If it means getting Aziraphale to the beach, though, Crowley will gladly accept being right about those two in silence. He’ll also gladly take any excuse to not worry about _ everything _ that could, has, and will happen. He’s really counting on the sangria helping with that last part. 

A pitcher in and he’s got his cheek on Aziraphale’s shoulder as the angel reads some book or other. It’s probably interesting. Aziraphale had told him a bit about the book when he’d first packed it but honestly, Crowley had been too distracted by the giddy tone of his voice and the way he did that little wiggling movement when he was excited and oh boy does he remember absolutely nothing about the description of that book. 

He tries to read it from where he is now but he can’t focus for more than a few words and, honestly, this is dull and sitting here in silence is really making his brain run a few hundred kilometers an hour. 

He wraps an arm around the angel but he doesn’t even look up. He’s getting too used to casual touches. Crowley still remembers the way his hand trembled the first time the demon held it. 

Which wasn’t even that long ago, honestly, so how dare he not immediately put down the book to kiss him. 

_ If this is the game he wants to play, fine. _

He reaches for his hand and twines their fingers together in the way that always serves to make Aziraphale blush. And the angel does blush, a lovely faint shade of red, but his eyes are still scanning the page so Crowley continues. His thumb rubs little circles against the back of Aziraphale’s hand and the angel gives his hand a little squeeze in response but it doesn’t seem to have affected his ability to read. Crowley nuzzles his jaw before moving to kiss his neck. He gets a content little hum in response but no full, undivided attention. 

_ Pay attention to me! _

He gets a little more daring, pressing a kiss to his temple, his cheek, below his ear while his arm settles, fingers still twined, back over Aziraphale’s side. 

Aziraphale’s smile changes, a little more fond, but goddamn the book is still there. 

Wait.

He hasn’t flipped a page in a while.

“You aren’t even reading!” Crowley accuses and Aziraphale finally glances back down at him. 

“Well I _ was _,” he replies, a tinge of accusation in his own tone. “A clingy demon interrupted me.”

“Did he now?” Crowley teases as he goes back to the little kisses. He’s revelled in the PDAs all week, even if Aziraphale is still shy about being this touchy in public. He’s not protesting now, though. 

“He did, the attention seeking brat,” the angel murmurs before kissing Crowley sweetly. His kisses were always like that, soft in a way that made you wonder if they’d happened at all. “And I was just getting to the part where the tsarina starts an affair with her husband’s valet.”

The angel’s hair is as soft as ever as Crowley tangles his hand up in it to kiss him again, a little more firmly this time. He keeps it chaste, though. This is a beach, after all. 

“You should tell him off,” he murmurs against Aziraphale’s lips between kisses. He lives for how easy this is to slip into, the banter they’ve always enjoyed now occupying a new role in their very newly changed relationship. 

The angel’s thumb rubs his cheek, palm cupping his face and Crowley leans into the touch slightly. The angel’s smile is soft against his own as he speaks. “I tried but he’s very persistent, I’m afraid. Although I do appreciate a bit of stubbornness in a man. ”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

…………………….

The fourth and final condition is one Aziraphale ends up accidentally taking care of himself. Apparently, Queen did not produce very many “beach appropriate songs”. 

If you listened to Aziraphale’s very misguided opinion, Queen had produced absolutely no “beach appropriate songs”.

The issue is that most “beach appropriate songs” are not good driving songs, and the drive out to the beach takes them nearly two hours with the morning London traffic. But if it makes his angel happy, he’ll listen to whatever he brings. Much to Crowley's original dismay, Aziraphale has brought the entire Beach Boys discography. 

Now, on the drive back, he’s very glad he accepted this condition.

Aziraphale can’t stop smiling as he leans against the half-opened window, the wind ruffling his hair more than Crowley ever could. The evening sun leaves a sort of halo around his head and God what Crowley wouldn’t do to kiss him right then and there. But he’s driving down the highway and he’s quite certain that the police wouldn’t be too happy about him pulling over to make out like some teenager. 

Aziraphale’s eyes light up suddenly and Crowley genuinely wonders what he did right to end up where he is right now. “Oh, I like this one. Can you turn it up?”

_ Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn’t have to wait so long. And wouldn’t it be nice to live together in the kind of world where we belong? _

Crowley pulls over anyways.

  


**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what to say. It's 2:30 AM and this might just be the most sappy, romantic thing I've ever written. 
> 
> As always, please comment and leave kudos if you liked it! I absolutely adore hearing feedback from everyone <3 And, again, I made a tumblr so y'all can request things! I'm at tiredandineffable.tumblr.com!


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